


Where or When

by celticmuse



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celticmuse/pseuds/celticmuse
Summary: Set in the Reboot Kelvin Timeline Days before her marriage to Dr Roger Korby, Christine Chapel receives a Vulcan visitor. A sequel of sorts to my TOS story Butterfly Effect but can be read by itself.  My first foray outside of TOS and into the reboot universe. sexual content
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

_It seems we stood and talked like this before,  
We looked at each other in the same way then,  
But I can't remember where...  
Or when._

"Hey! Bartender! We need a couple of Horny Vulcans over here, STAT." 

All eyes in the WarpDrive bar turned toward the dark skinned woman as she stood waving her hand for the server's attention. 

"Nyota, please, for the love of heaven sit down!" Christine Chapel pleaded, tugging futilely on her friend's arm. "I think we've had enough." 

"Oh come on, Chris, it's a party," Nyota protested giving her friend a playful shot to the arm. "How often does my best friend get her medical degree and get married in the same week? And your birthday… I almost forgot your birthday. Damn why didn't I think to get an Orian male stripper?" Nyota was on her fourth round of drinks and clearly feeling no pain. 

Chapel shook her head in exasperation. Fortunately it was still early in the evening so there were few witnesses to her mortification--a handful of cadets, several tables of low level diplomats and an older Vulcan gentleman sitting alone at a back booth who shot them a brief look of distaste before returning his attention to his padd. 

_Roger._ She felt a wave of apprehension at how her fiancé would react if he found out there was any sort of scene involving his bride-to-be. _Pon Farr_ Roger Korby was a man who placed a very high premium on maintaining appearances and rarely missed an opportunity to let Christine know when she'd failed to pass muster. 

He's only trying to help, she reminded herself guiltily. Think of everything he's done for you, Christine. Roger had been her knight in shining armor, the hero of her darkest hour, mender of her broken dreams, architect of her destiny, father figure, friend, and mentor. She couldn't imagine what her life would be without him. 

There was, of course, no need for Christine to imagine some alternate Rogerless life. In a few days she would become the wife of Doctor Roger Korby, founder and director of the prestigious, though not particularly creatively named, Doctor Roger Korby Institute. As Roger's wife, she would be expected to represent the Institute to the community, and more importantly, to the wealthy and well connected donors upon whom Roger's work depended for financial support. It was a role for which Roger had been painstakingly grooming her for the past seven years. 

"Why this is called a 'Horny Vulcan'?" she asked studying the icy cold, sweet, dark olive green drink. 

"Well it's a combination of Green Rigelian brandy, pistachio liquor, Lavanda and…Deltan chocolate." 

"Chocolate?" 

"Chocolate works on Vulcans like an aphrodisiac. And…" Nyota leaned in conspiratorially. "And?" 

"It turns the drink the exact shade of green as”--she moved her lips to Christine's ear and lowered her voice to a sexy stage whisper--"a Vulcan's penis." 

"Nyota!" Christine scowled at her friend. "I've given any number of Vulcan males their Fleet physicals and I can assure you that a Vulcan's penis is pretty much the same color as a human penis." 

"Maybe at rest, Nyota said as wicked smile played across her full lips, "but I can 'assure' you, Doctor Chapel, that when it's standing at attention …" by way of illustration she very slowly straightened out her index finger, then slid the stiffened finger slowly up the side of Christine's glass. Reaching the top of the glass she traced her finger in languid circles along the rim before dipping it down into the dark green liquid. Her dark eyes glowing, she brought the finger slowly to her lips and licked the creamy coating from her finger with a satisfied sigh. Christine's eyes involuntarily traveled again to the solitary Vulcan male at the back table. He was sipping what appeared to be tea and to her horror she found that he'd been watching them. He lifted a quizzical eyebrow and canted his head slightly to the side. She gave him an apologetic nod and was certain she'd seen a faint trace of amusement soften the angular planes of his gaunt face before he went back to reading his padd. 

Nyota Uhura fished through her purse for her credit chip as the Andorian bartender deposited a fresh round of drinks on the table. She paid, adding a generous tip. 

"I still can't believe that I'm going to miss your wedding. The Captain says they've cancelled our leave to transport all the crap to the new Vulcan home planet." 

"It's okay, Ny," Christine assured her friend. "I understand, it's an important mission." But understanding didn't change the fact that the two people who really mattered most to her, Nyota Uhura and Leonard McCoy wouldn't be with her on her wedding day. It was a disappointment, but in the past seven years Christine Chapel had learned to roll with disappointment. 

Nyota reached into her purse and drew out a gaily decorated gift bag. 

"A little something for the wedding night," she smiled evilly as Christine took the proffered bag. 

Christine's pink flushed cheeks were now a deep crimson as she reached into the bag and pulled out the transparent lacy garment. Garment was an overstatement, it was little more than a few scraps of shell pink silk and creamy lace. Hopefully she fished inside the bag. Nyota cast her puzzled look. 

"I'm looking for the rest of it," she laughed nervously. 

Nyota gave her friend a playful swat. "Hey girl, after making him wait seven years he'll be expecting the ride of his life.”Maybe I should have thrown in some Deltan love oils?" 

"Ny! You're incorrigible." 

"Oh come on, Chris, you've been engaged for almost seven years and you've never even given the poor guy a taste." She shook her head disapprovingly at her friend. "He's gonna be chomping at the bit girl." "I was seventeen-years old when we got engaged and for your information he's never asked for a 'taste' as you so eloquently put it. He's a gentleman." 

"Never?" Nyota raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

"Not all men are just interested in sex." 

"I've never said all men are only interested in sex," she sighed. "I'm sorry Chris. I know Roger is a great guy. You love him and he loves you. That's what really matters. It's just…"

"Just what, Ny?" 

"It's just…" Nyota bit her lips together nervously, and then took a sip of her drink to bolster her resolve. "It's just that everything is always about Roger. It's always about what Roger wants, what Roger needs. Damn it he didn't even bother to show up for your graduation." 

"That's not fair, Ny," she protested. "He and Andrea had to present at an important conference in Paris." 

"He didn't even ‘ask’ you to marry him, Chris. He just decided the two of you were getting married. It's always about what Roger thinks, what Roger wants. Sometimes it's like you don't think you even matter. What about you, Chris? What do you want, what do you need?" 

"What do I want?" she responded, a quiver in her voice. "I want hear the church bells of Florence ringing six o'clock on a summer evening and run home to find my mom making gnocchi for dinner, because it's Thursday night and that's what my mom always makes on Thursday night. I want to play _calico_ on Sunday mornings and hear my dad cheering on the sidelines. I want to not be terrified every time I feel a little bit happy, because in an instant it can all be gone forever. I want a real home and a family. 

"I want the life that Roger and I can make together, Ny. That's what I want, what I need." 

"I know you love him, I know he's done a lot for you honey, but are you "in love" with him?" 

"Life isn't some sappy holovid where two people with nothing in common share a magical kiss and live happily ever after. I love him, I'm marrying him," Christine responded in a tone that didn't invite further discussion. "Can't you at least try to understand and be happy for me?" 

"I'm sorry honey, and I am happy for you, really I just want to know that you'll be happy." 

Chris Chapel reached across the tiny table and embraced her friend. "I will be happy, Ny, and with any luck by this time next year you'll be an honorary auntie." 

"I'll throw you a baby shower that will knock your socks off." 

"Okay, but no Horny Vulcans." 

"What about Orian strippers?" 

"I'll miss you so much, Ny. You and Len are the closest thing to family I've had these past few years." 

"Right, you'll be so busy being Mrs. Doctor Roger Korby with all your new high society friends that you'll never even think about me." 

"I couldn't forget you if I tried. I'll never have another friend like you, Nyota." "Back at ya blondie.Damn, it's nineteen hundred hours I've gotta run." 

"Hot date?" Christine laughed. 

"Maybe." Nyota answered coyly. 

"With your mystery man I assume. Still top secret?" 

"If I tell you, I'd have to kill you." 

The two friends exchanged a teary embrace as they left the bar. In the back corner the Vulcan shut off his padd and donned a light robe before following the women into the cool San Francisco evening.


	2. Chapter 2

Christine palmed open the lock and entered her small apartment, tossing the package with Nyota's gift on to the table next to the couch. She skinned off her green tunic, the pastel shade of green that Roger preferred she wear, and tossed it into the laundry slot. Feeling a bit indulgent, she bypassed the sonics and programmed a real hot water shower. She took a generous handful of the pale peach cleanser and scrubbed the heavy makeup from her face, then tackled the stiff residue of styling gel in her hair as the 30 second warning sounded on the shower. Working quickly she finished cleaning herself and reached for a towel as the water abruptly cut off.

She toweled off her damp hair then slipped into her favorite pair of silky yoga pants and a soft faded t shirt. As she booted up the padd Rodger sent over with her "to do" list her eyes drifted toward the gift bag on the table. Why was Nyota's gift bothering her so much? Was it the gift that made her uncomfortable or what the gift so blatantly implied? She knew she'd be sleeping with Roger once they were married. Sleeping, but of course not just sleeping. She would be his wife. 

_"Are you 'in love' with him?"_ Why hadn't she been able to answer Nyota's question? She loved Roger, she did. Perhaps it wasn't like the love in the holovids, but it was real. She admired him, she was proud of the work they would accomplish together and of course children, she wanted children, to be part of a real family again. They would have a home, family, they would do important work it was all part of the plan. But why did it all seem wrong. Ever since Len told her about the alternate universe created by the incursion of the Romulan ship she had been unable to shake the feeling that perhaps she was living the wrong life. 

It was a life she'd chosen when she was fifteen years old, barely two years after Roger, her father's friend, had so generously stepped forward to take on the responsibility of raising her. He brought her to San Francisco, took her into his home providing for her, and carefully mapping out her future. At some point, she wasn't certain exactly when; "her" future had morphed into “their” future. 

Like Pygmalion, the ancient Greek sculptor, he had recreated her, and then had fallen in love with his work in progress. It had all seemed so terribly romantic to the fifteen year old Christine. At his insistence, she'd changed her dark brown hair to a sunny golden blonde, always perfectly styled as he liked it. She'd taken great pains to make certain that her makeup was always skillfully applied; her clothing, which he selected for her, was always elegantly tasteful, always modest. 

Her career path, he had finely tuned as well, creating a woman suitable to become the wife of the famed Roger Korby. By the age of 22 she held twin PhDs in Exogenetics and Exobiology. He had initially balked at her desire to add a medical degree to the mix to honor her mother's wishes, but had eventually relented when she agreed to a three year stint in Starfleet. It was important; he explained to her, that they have contacts within the military arm of the Federation. 

The three years in Med School at Fleet had been a very happy time for her, and had passed far too quickly. She'd found fast friends in Nyota Uhura and Leonard McCoy, and while she had enjoyed the challenge of pure research, there was something eminently more satisfying about the hands on science of healing. The nursing training she'd had at the small hospital in Florence where her mother was chief of staff had given her a leg up on her classmates, and she'd picked up nursing shifts at the Fleet hospital to further hone her patient skills. 

But it was foolish looking back at what was. In three days, on her twenty-fifth birthday, she would marry Roger and start a new life. There was no "other" life. This life, her life with Roger was her life. She carried the list from Roger out to the kitchen deciding to program a light dinner into the replicator. She was desperately craving a bacon cheeseburger, but had second thoughts as she glanced back into the living area where the expensive designer wedding gown Roger had chosen was hanging in the clear stasis bag. It was tight fit already, she admitted ruefully, and the cheeseburger certainly wouldn't make it fit any better. 

"Okay," she addressed the daunting gown dutifully. "Twenty minutes of yoga then I'll eat a salad." She reached into the drawer of the table and searched for her favorite music chip. 

drawer of the table and searched for her favorite music chip. 


	3. Chapter 3

Spock stepped down from the transport, checking the information on the padd again to verify he was at the correct stop. He quashed the illogical irritation he felt over missing the transport she'd taken. He had planned to make contact with her on the public transport, a seemingly serendipitous encounter that would raise no suspicion. Simply showing up at her apartment was going to be awkward, and would most likely raise questions he didn't wish to answer. He wondered how this Christine Chapel would react to a stranger showing up at her door in the middle of the evening and questioned, not for the first time, what he really hoped to accomplish by seeing her.

The incursion of the Narada and the subsequent destruction of the USS Kelvin had created far reaching ripples of change in this timeline. According to his research, some of the changes were sweeping others more subtle and some things did not appear to have changed at all. 

Christine Chapel's life in this universe had been dramatically affected. Christine's uncle Charles had been the Second Engineer on the Kelvin, and one of the first to die in Nero's attack. The tragedy of young Charles' death brought reconciliation between Christine's father and her grandfather that had not come about in the original timeline. Ten years later when her grandfather died, his considerable estate passed to Christine's parents. 

Two years later, when the funding for her father's archeological dig in Southern Italy dried up, as it also had in the original timeline, her parents had the financial resources to stay on in Italy and continue their work. Tragically, that course of action had placed them directly in the path of the catastrophic eruption of Vesuvius a year later. Doctor Chapel and his wife and been among the millions killed, leaving behind their thirteen year old daughter with no one but her father's friend Doctor Roger Korby, and a trust fund valued at over thirty billion credits. 

Doctor Korby's fate has shifted as well. In the wake of the Kelvin tragedy, Federation funding shifted from scientific exploration to expansion of Starfleet's military presence in deep space. Korby never went to Exo III, never died there and had instead established a most distinguished scientific career in the private sector. 

He regarded Christine's apartment building with puzzled fascination. The architecture pegged it as clearly 19th century, though it appeared to have been renovated several times. Clearly not what one would pick as the lodgings of an heiress, but the colorful eclectic neighborhood filled with students and artists would have suited the Christine Chapel of his timeline. But she was not that Christine Chapel, or more to the point, not his Christine Chapel, he reminded himself sternly as he looked down at the simply wrapped package he carried. 

It was a harmless indulgence, he'd assured himself. He would see her for a moment, wish her happiness in her marriage and return to his quarters at the Vulcan Embassy. There would be no 'universe ending paradoxes' no fracture of the space time continuum, no ripples in the timeline. But standing in the lobby of her building, it was growing difficult to see the logic in coming here. 

He would leave Terra on Saturday with the last group of his people migrating to the new Vulcan homeworld. Everything he had cherished in his lifetime had disappeared with him into that black hole. If he could just see her, know that somewhere in this timeline she was happy; perhaps he could find some sense of closure and the peace to carry him through his exile in this universe. 

There were over two dozen residences in the building, but of course, he sighed, there was no apparent system for discerning which apartment was hers. If he had been given to human superstition he might have taken this as a sign to abort his ill-conceived mission. On the surface, the idea of simply knocking on doors and enquiring as to which apartment was her's seemed logical, but of course humans were a naturally suspicious lot and might ascribe some unsavory motive to his presence and call the police. He did not particularly relish the idea of having to explain himself to the authorities. 

He was almost ready to surrender to the fates and abandon his quest when the blast of music poured down from the mezzanine. "Angel of Harlem…" The song was old, the beat hard and insistent, a 21st century band called U2. Christine Chapel had a great affinity for the ancient band and much to his puzzlement had used the music as a background for exercise. Some things, it appeared, had not changed in this timeline. 


	4. Chapter 4

He hesitated at her door for a moment taking a long slow calming breath before pressing the door chime.

"Curiosity killed the cat; satisfaction brought him back." 

It had been one of his Christine's most often quoted and least rational pieces of Terran folk wisdom. It was not logical that the life force of a primitive being such as a cat would be extinguished by the desire to obtain knowledge. The desire to pursue knowledge was eminently logical, and beneficial to all beings. This affront to logic was compounded with the corollary axiom that the cat, now posited to be dead, would in fact be returned to life by acquiring the data which it initially sought? All available resources he had consulted concurred that a terran feline, once dead, would remain in said state in perpetuity. 

He had confronted Christine with the illogic of her hypothesis, but she'd simply laughed and reminded him that he had died once but was now alive. He had been unable to make her see the nonanalogous nature of the two scenarios. He was certain however of one thing: in this current scenario it would appear that he was the cat. 

…………………………………………………………............................ "Doctor Chapel?" 

"Yes, I'm Christine Chapel." 

Spock swallowed hard and found his mouth suddenly dry as a Vulcan desert. He had seriously underestimated the emotional maelstrom meeting her again would unleash within him. 

"Are you alright?" she asked resting a reassuring hand on his arm; the luxurious fabric was cool to her touch. "Do you need medical assistance?" She moved toward him and touched his cheek lightly to check his temperature and was flooded with an electrifying wave of thoughts and raw emotion she couldn't comprehend. A look of panic crossed his dark eyes and he abruptly pulled back from her touch, breaking the white hot current flowing between them. Christine clutched onto the doorframe as she struggled to regain her equilibrium. 

"I… I am sorry." He said his voice a hoarse whisper. "It was not my intention to frighten you, Doctor Chapel." 

"What," she stared at her hand intently struggling to gain control of her thoughts. "What was that?" 

"Vulcans are touch telepaths. I did not anticipate your touch. My mind was not shielded. Please forgive my breach of discipline." 

"Of course, there is no offense where none it taken," she responded gently, recalling the phrase her Vulcan physiology professor had used on occasion. "It is I who should apologize. I should not have touched you without asking first…I wasn't thinking. How can I help you?" 

He carefully considered the story he'd fabricated to explain his presence here. It was said that Vulcans could not li, but more accurately Vulcans chose not to lie. Though it rankled his ingrained Vulcan sensibilities, he had learned from experience that when dealing with humans there were times when skirting the truth was the most prudent course of action. 

"I knew your family many years ago." He stated evenly, at least that wasn't a lie. "I wanted to express my good wishes for your upcoming wedding and to bring you a gift," he added as he held out a simply wrapped package. 

"Good heavens, where are my manners?" she laughed self-consciously. "Please, do come in." She moved back from the doorway gesturing for him to come inside the apartment. 

In his years working under James Kirk Spock had gained a healthy respect for the strategic advantage of the timely retreat; if ever there appeared a precipitous moment to employ that tactic, this was, indeed that moment. Yet, defying two millennia of Vulcan logic, and over half a century of Starfleet experience, he found himself standing beside her, the door swishing noisily shut behind him. 

"Please excuse…" she looked around the apartment which seemed in a state of barely controlled chaos then turned her gaze to her attire and laughed again. "Well… pretty much everything." 

"I have intruded on your personal time.” 

"Not at all, please have a seat." She led him toward the small overstuffed sofa. "I was about to start some tea, would you join me?" 

"Please do not trouble yourself on my account, Doctor." "It's Christine, and It's no trouble, as I said I was about to make some for myself. It will give me a good excuse to break out the tsa'e I brought back from Vulcan." Her eyes saddened and she bowed her head. _"Tushah nash-veh k'odular paki-panu whl'q'n."_ He stiffened slightly at her fluid use of Vulcan, then steepling his fingers he bowed his own head acknowledging her offer of condolence on the loss of all that was Vulcan. 

"I accept your sentiment with an appreciative spirit," he responded speaking the ritual phrase in English. 

The stood in silence for a few moments, then Christine set the package on the coffee table and moved into the small kitchen to prepare the tea. 

"Will you be immigrating to the new Vulcan homeworld?" 

"Yes," he responded as his eyes surreptitiously scanned her living space for clues about the Christine Chapel of this universe. "I will be traveling there with the Enterprise on Saturday." 

"I don't believe you told me your name." she called out as the whistle on the old fashioned kettle signaled that the water was boiling. 

"Were you on Vulcan recently?" he responded, allowing her to infer that he had been unable to hear her question over the sound of the kettle. 

"About nine months ago," she responded as she reentered the room and set a tray with the sweetly fragrant tea on the table next to the package. "I did a three month internship at the VSA Healing Center. Did we perhaps meet there? You seem very familiar." 

"No, I have not been to Vulcan recently. Did you enjoy your classes there?" 

"It was extremely challenging, but I learned so much," her voice quavered a bit and her eyes grew misty. "I think of them all, my instructors, my classmates, the patients… just gone… it's almost beyond belief." 

_"Kaiidith,"_ he responded softly. "The Vulcan way tells us that what is, is. Outworlders believe us cold, and uncaring. But denial does not mitigate the loss, so logic tells us we must accept what is and move forward." 

"I've never found Vulcans to be cold or uncaring. Quite the contrary, I believe they feel things more deeply than humans, they simply are able to hide it better." 

"So, your specialty is Vulcan psychology?" he responded with a barely perceptible trace of a smile. 

"No, I did an OB rotation in ShiKhar. My specialty is Exogenetics." 

She poured each of them a cup of the dark russet colored tea. She added a few drops of honey to her cup, just as the Christine of his timeline would have. 

She offered him the honey, but he shook his head. As he raised the pottery cup to his lips she was suddenly quite aware of why he seemed so familiar. 

"You…you were at the bar tonight… at the back table, drinking tea. You were watching us!" Her eyes narrowed and her expression grew suddenly wary. She set the cup on the table and rose to her feet, her arms crossed across her chest defensively. 

"Who are you and why have you come here?" 

Spock sighed. "I came here to wish you well on your marriage and to bring you this gift." 

"You followed me here from the bar." 

"Not precisely," he responded and set his cup down on the coffee table. "I attempted to follow you but was unable to secure a seat on your transport. I found my way here on my own." 

"Oh well, that's entirely different." she responded with the undisguised sarcasm his Christine was fond of using. 

"It had been my intention to approach you on the transport and express my sentiments on your marriage and present you with the package. I regret that circumstance did not permit the fruition of my intended plan." He rose gracefully from the couch. 

"Who are you?" 

"It does not matter." 

"It matters to me. You show up her with some bs story about knowing my family…"

"I did know your family." 

"Did you know me?" 

"This was a mistake coming here. Please forgive my intrusion." 

He moved toward the door, extending a hand toward the control panel. "Who the hell are you?" She grabbed his hand away from the sensor, the action spinning him back to face her. Once again the tidal wave of thought and feeling swept over her, the words and images coming so thick and so fast she could not decipher but a few. Spock frantically struggled against her to break the contact, but she managed to hold on for a few seconds more. 

They stood in silence for some time before Christine was finally able to gather the strength to speak. 

"You…you're from the future," she gasped. "You're Ambassador Spock."


	5. Chapter 5

"How much did Doctor McCoy tell you?" Spock asked as Christine set the platter of steamed vegetables next to the salad.

"Some of it, not everything, but probably more than he should have." 

"It appears the good doctor is something of a busybody in both universes." 

"Well, I may have plied him with a bit of good Kentucky bourbon." 

"Yet another constant." 

"Were he and I friends in the other timeline?" 

"Yes, the two of you were quite close." 

"How well did you and I know each other?" 

"We served together on the USS Enterprise. You were the Head Nurse. I was the First Officer." 

"I wasn't a doctor?" 

"During our first mission you worked as a nurse, although you held a PhD in Exobiology as well. Before the mission ended, you left the ship to pursue your medical degree." 

"Was I with Roger in the other timeline?" 

He busied himself with taking a portion of the salad onto his dinner plate as he formulated his answer. 

"You were engaged to Doctor Korby when I met you." he responded casually. He was relieved that she took his answer at face value and didn't seem to sense the indirect nature of his response. 

"Were we friends?" 

"Not at first, but we grew closer over time." 

"Am I different?" 

"Different?" 

"Am I different from when you knew me?" 

"It is difficult to say. You were older when we first met. I will say you had a much better appetite," he remarked, nodding toward the small serving of salad on her dinner plate. 

"I'm being held hostage by the _blanc mange_ over there." She laughed indicating the dress hanging in the corner of the living area. "I've got to be able to fit into that thing on Saturday." 

"You are not wearing the Venetian lace dress?" 

"My mother's dress? How on earth did you know about that?" she laughed. "Roger would never be seen with me in that old thing. Did I get married in that dress in your timeline?" 

"I believe that you did." 

She responded with a brilliant smile that brought an unexpected, but not unwelcome, rush of emotion coursing through him. 

"I guess the other Roger didn't have as much fashion sense as this one. I guess it's the Butterfly Effect, every change creates new ripples in the timeline that in turn create other changes that create other ripples." 

"Indeed, it has been fascinating to see how the changes have played out in this time though at times unsettling as well." 

"You're joining the colonists on New Vulcan." 

"It is the logical choice. It is not possible for me to return to my universe. I will live out my days helping to preserve the wisdom and culture of my people." 

"I understand there are barely ten thousand colonists." "Not all see the logic of reestablishing the bloodlines. There are certain…inherent genetic and cultural factors that could prove an impediment to such a large scale repopulation effort." 

"The seven year reproductive cycle will undoubtedly prove problematic." 

"That is something that is not discussed with outworlders," he responded, his tone sharper than he had intended. 

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to give offense. It was not discussed with me but it's pretty hard to do an Obstetrics rotation on Vulcan and not notice that the vast majority of Vulcan families have children born exactly seven years apart." 

"It is I who must apologize for the discourteous nature of my response. That of which you speak goes back to the very earliest times before Surak, before the Enlightenment. It is s a very private thing, not easily discussed even among our own people. However, I believe that what you suggest may be correct. It is not just the biological imperative of the cycle itself that will be problematic to the process of rebuilding our people, but the ritual and tradition that surround the cycle." 

"So Vulcans are capable of…" she hesitated for a moment, searching for a word to soften the impertinence of her question "mating… outside of the cycle?" 

He raised an eyebrow and she saw the faint suggestion of amusement in his eyes. "Yes, Christine we are, as you say capable, but it is more complicated than simply the physical ability to mate. There are cultural and psychological implications that have been systematically ingrained into the Vulcan psyche for several millennia. There are those among my people who believe that those impediments cannot be overcome in a few generations." 

"What do you believe?" 

"I believe there are always possibilities. I believe that life finds a way." 

"To life and possibilities." she smiled and held her tea cup up initiating a toast. 

"To life and possibilities." 

"Would you care for more tea?" 

"Thank you Christine, but I must return to the Vulcan Embassy. There is much to be done before I take my leave of Terra." 

"You can't leave yet," she pleaded gently, "I haven't even opened your gift." 

"Alright, perhaps a just bit longer," he said. 

She refilled their cups with the last of the fragrant Vulcan tea before retrieving the package from the coffee table. Carefully she unwrapped the package and removed the lid from the terra cotta colored box. For a long moment she simply stared into the box, unable to speak. Finally a single teardrop rolled down her cheek. 

Gently she removed a pottery bowl from the tissue lined box. It was a simple piece, the outside a dark Tuscan green was decorated with stylized lemons and olives the inside was glazed a warm orange and decorated with a field of cobalt blue _fleur-di-lis_. "My grandmother had a bowl just like this." She said her voice barely a whisper. Examining the piece she slowly turned the bowl over and found the words " _deruda_ " and " _FIRENZE_ ". "How did you find this?" 

"I was walking in the old section of town one evening and saw it in the window of an antique shop." 

That, at least was the truth. Seeing the bowl, the same bowl he'd given to Christine for their wedding, in the window of the shop had been the impetus for this whole convoluted affair. 

"This is…extraordinary. I will treasure it always." Impulsively she reached out to embrace him but he held out his hand to stop her. 

"I really must go now," he said softly. 

She nodded her understanding. 

"It has been most pleasing to see you, Christine. I wish you and Doctor Korby great happiness in your life together." 

He held his hand out to her in the ritual Vulcan gesture. "Live Long and Prosper, Christine Chapel.” 

"Peace and Long Life, Ambassador Spock." 

The door swooshed shut behind him and Christine hugged the bowl tightly to her chest. Roger wouldn't like it, she decided. It was too old and too "ethnic" for his tastes. She had let him have his way with every detail of their new home, but she was keeping the bowl she decided, and that was not negotiable. 

She cleared the table, mentally organizing her errands for the next day. She had to go by the lawyer's office to sign some papers for the transfer of her assets to the Korby Foundation. She looked around the apartment and wondered what among her assets the Foundation would find worth having and laughed. There was some sort of inheritance from her parents, but she doubted it was much of anything. Roger had always taken care of that and never wanted to worry her with those kinds of details. 

The movers would be here early to take her boxes to storage, and the charity people would be coming for the rest on Monday. After seeing Roger's lawyer she planned a surprise visit to Leonard at the Academy. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face when she told him about Ambassador Spock's visit. 

It had been a most interesting day she decided and felt a new sense of peace that the path she was choosing was the right one. There was still a faint tingling sensation in her hand where the Ambassador had touched her, and she recalled the barrage of alien symbols and images that had flowed through her when they'd touched. Suddenly an image came back to her with crystal clarity. 

A woman with blue eyes and dark brown hair was laughing and a deep male voice, like a silken caress weaving through her mind speaking a word she didn't understand. 

_"Th'y'la"_


	6. Chapter 6

Ambassador Spock picked up a smooth pebble and tossed it down into the bay, watching the glimmering silver ripples illuminated by the full Terran moon above. How many lonely nights had this quiet aerie served as refuge for the gangly seventeen year old Vulcan boy who dreamed of a future among the stars?

His first years among humans had been complicated. Despite his human mother, he had been raised in the Vulcan ways and the social and cultural differences between himself and his fellow cadets had been difficult to bridge. The constant need to shield his mind from their chaotic thoughts and emotions had been exhausting and he'd had trouble making any sort of meaningful connection with his classmates. 

It was ironic that on Vulcan he'd been ostracized for being human and among humans ostracized for being Vulcan. It seemed strangely amusing now, a century and a half later, but at the time the loneliness and feeling of homelessness had been overwhelming He had compensated by throwing himself into his studies, but his academic achievements seemed to only drive the wedge between himself and his classmates deeper There were times during those years at the Academy when he was certain that he had made a terrible mistake in casting his lot with Starfleet. It was only the arrogance of youth and his determination not to let Sarek see his failure that had kept him from returning to Vulcan. 

It was not until Christopher Pike took him under his wing during his first tour of the Enterprise that he had begun to believe there was a real place for him in Starfleet. Pike had truly made him an officer and taught him the value of loyalty. Then James Kirk came into his life, and he had learned what it was to be accepted for himself, to have a friend and what it meant to be a friend. Kirk taught him the value of trust. Then, most unexpectedly, Christine Chapel followed him across a Vulcan desert in the dark of night and taught him what it was to be truly and completely loved without boundaries or conditions. Christine taught him to be a man, a husband, a father. 

The Spock of this universe seemed to have navigated the waters of the Academy with far more success. This Spock seemed free of the self-doubt that had haunted him after the bitter parting with Sarek. This Spock and his father seemed to have forged the familial bond that he and the Sarek of his universe were only able to achieve decades later. 

Nyota Uhura? Perhaps the most puzzling twist was the emotional attachment between the Spock of this timeline and the young Nyota Uhura. He considered Nyota a loyal friend but there had never been any sort of romantic connection. How did the Spock of this universe find himself unbonded and free to pursue such a relationship? 

He had deluded himself into believing that seeing this Christine Chapel was a harmless indulgence. Touching her, the sweetly familiar paths of her mind so open to him had had overwhelmed his control and he had come perilously close to revealing everything. And to what end? Did he think he could somehow claim her now? Invoke the challenge with Korby? It was beyond illogical, this woman was younger than the children of his granddaughter; it was beyond ludicrous. But denial was pointless; he wanted her. She was not his Christine, she would never be his, Christine she was pledged to another man in this universe. Yet how could he see her and not love her, not want her again? 

Kaiidith! In three days he would leave this planet and the ghosts of his past behind him. Christine would be happy with Roger and he would live out his days on New Vulcan with his memories.


	7. Chapter 7

It was barely five-hundred hours as the first faint glimmer of sunlight stole into Christine's small bedroom. Taking a few minutes to stretch out her sleep stiffened muscles, and gather her thoughts she rose and programmed a small pot of strong coffee. While she'd enjoyed last night's dinner with Ambassador Spock, it had set her behind on the myriad of little tasks that needed to be completed before the wedding.

Of course the details of the actual wedding itself fell within the domain of Kayla Weston, the society wedding coordinator that Roger had hired. The woman was what her father used to call a "force of nature", and in truth Christine was a bit afraid of her. She had taken to referring to the iron willed event planner as "Admiral" Weston. Within the first five minutes of their initial meeting she'd dismissed every idea Christine had for the wedding and had outlined the ostentatious nuptial circus that Roger apparently desired. 

Her only wish that the Admiral and Roger had begrudgingly granted was allowing Nyota to be her maid of honor. Now, with the reassignment of the Enterprise, Nyota would be leaving and Roger's assistant Andrea would be stepping in to replace her. 

"The wedding is just a day, Chris," she reminded herself as she slipped on a comfortable pair of jeans and t shirt, "it's the marriage that matters." 

It was the marriage that mattered to her. Somehow, the Ambassador's revelation that she and Roger had married in the original timeline has salved the re-wedding jitters that had been plaguing her thoughts the past few days. She had barely two hours to pack up the memories of her previous life, memories that would have no place in the luxurious townhouse in the most exclusive area of San Francisco where she and Roger would start their married life. It was a far cry from the tiny flat on _Via del Orochiolo_ in the shadow of _Santa Maria del Fiore_ where she'd lived with her parents. 

The meeting with the interior designer had gone no better than the meeting with the wedding planner. Roger had strong and quite particular tastes, and the design staff was only too happy to accommodate him. It had all seemed a bit much to Christine, but he had taken pains to remind her that their home would be seen as an extension of the Korby Foundation, and it was important to maintain a certain impression with the important people they would be entertaining. In fairness to Roger, Christine didn't really care that much about the décor of their home, except that she was hoping to be decorating a nursery before the year was out. 

Two hours and three cups of strong coffee later she watched as the movers carried the last of the twelve boxes of books and mementos out the door. Uncharacteristically emboldened, she'd held out one box of her most prized, though "aesthetically unsuitable" treasures which she had decided to smuggle into her new home. The antique Florentine pottery bowl from the Ambassador, the royal purple ball cap with the red _fleur de lis_ that her father bought for her at her first _Fiorentina game_ , a handful of family holos that she'd been able to retrieve from her home before Roger whisked her off to San Francisco and lastly, her mother's Venetian lace wedding gown. An hour later she hopped on a Public Transport bound for Roger's lawyer's office. 

It was nearly noon by the time Christine left the posh legal offices. For someone with next to nothing, signing over her worldly possessions had taken up most of the morning. Roger had explained the reasons behind the paperwork, but it had all been a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo to her. If she wanted to catch Leonard before lunch she would need to hurry. 

She'd seen the public transport headed toward the Academy pull out as she approached. It would be half an hour until the next one. There were only a handful of people waiting at the public transporter station. It was expensive, but she would get to Leonard's office in minutes instead of an hour. 

She withdrew her credit chip from her wallet and slid it into the ticket machine. 

"One passenger to stop 223.17 Starfleet Academy main entrance 75 credits you will transport in two point three seven minutes. If you wish to purchase this ticket say "yes" if you would like to plot another destination say "new trip".

"Yes" "Thank you, Doctor Chapel. Please move to transporter pad 9." 

Moving toward the transporter pad she attempted to ignore the family of butterflies that had apparently had taken up residence in her stomach. Born in the Tuscan region of Italia, the first of a handful of countries to declare itself an historic cultural preserve, she had grown up with little exposure to the modern technology most Terrans simply took for granted. There were only two transporter stations in the entire country, the station at _Fumicino_ outside of _Roma AntiquaMilano_ which serviced the North. 

After an initially rocky beginning she had eventually made the transition to the high tech environment of San Francisco, but still found herself unnerved by the transporter. The idea of some machine scrambling her atoms, and then arbitrarily reassembling them still terrified her. Swallowing hard she climbed up onto the transporter pad. 

The tingling sensation slowly faded, though the nausea remained in full force. The transport tech signaled that she could step down from the platform. 

"Miss, do you need assistance?" Christine turned to find a young Fleet officer offering her his hand. 

"No, thank you," she responded tentatively. "I'm just a bit disoriented. I'll be okay in a second." 

She wasn't entirely sure that was the case, but wasn't particularly interested in an audience if her partially digested breakfast was going to be making an appearance. 

"Chapel, right? Chris Chapel?" 

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" 

"Kirk, Jim Kirk. Come on, give me your hand." He flashed a charming smile, "I promise I won't bite." 

"Okay, if you promise," she laughed nervously grasping the proffered hand. 

"Better?" he asked solicitously. 

"Better, thanks for your assistance. I'm still not comfortable with using transporters." 

"You're starting to sound like Bones." 

"Captain Kirk," Christine's eyes widened realizing that her Good Samaritan was in fact Leonard's good friend Captain James Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise and the reigning golden boy of the galaxy. 

"Jim," he corrected with a slightly crooked grin, the one she'd heard Nyota call his 'Iowa corn boy' smile. "I'm off duty for ten more minutes. And Bones tells me you've jumped ship in favor of Holy Matrimony." 

"Not exactly jumping ship, just going on the inactive list, they can still recall me for three years." 

"So what brings you here?" 

I'm hoping to catch lunch with Leonard. You'd be welcome to join us." 

"I wish I could," he said and his smile faded, "but I've got to head over to the Vulcan Embassy and deliver some bad news." 

"Bad news?" 

"The Federation was only able to give them half of the supplies and equipment they need for colonization." 

"Only half, I don't understand?" 

"Most of the Federation resources are tied up in rebuilding the Fleet." There was a high pitched beeping sound and Kirk nodded to the transporter tech. "I've got to get going. It was good to see you again, Christine." 

"Good to see you too. Thanks again for your assistance." 

………………………………………………......……………………....... Kirk watched as she turned and walked across the lobby. She really was a stunning woman, and at one time he'd briefly considered getting to know her better. But McCoy had declared the shapely blonde strictly off limits. It was funny, he had almost forgotten about her until Ambassador Spock had asked him about her during their trip back to Earth. 

There had been something fleeting in the Ambassador's reaction to his pronouncement that Christine Chapel had possibly the finest ass in the entire galaxy that was something more than simple Vulcan prudery. As he watched her walk away he decided that the votes were in and there was no "possibly" about it, the woman's backside was a work of art. He couldn't help but wonder what place she had occupied in their lives in the other timeline. 


	8. Chapter 8

Christine walked quickly across the lobby toward the turbolift , turning back to catch a last look at Jim Kirk. According to the Ambassador, in the other universe she'd served under him on the Enterprise. Had they been friends, she wondered. Somehow she liked to think they had. She was turning back toward the turbolift when something hit her knocking her to the floor along with a stack of pads, which skidded noisily along the highly polished marble. Startled, she struggled to get her bearings and make some sense of what had happened when she found herself gazing up into familiar dark eyes.

"Are you alright?" the familiar deep voice asked anxiously, and a nicely muscled arm clad in Fleet Science blue attached to a tall dark-haired Vulcan was extended down toward her. 

"What…what hit me Commander?" she asked looking around at the scattered electronic data readers littering the lobby floor. 

"It would appear that I did," the young Vulcan responded sheepishly, "Please allow me to assist you in getting up." 

Gingerly she took the proffered arm, careful after her experience with the Ambassador not to touch his bare hand. 

"Thanks." 

"You are uninjured, Nurse…excuse me, I understand it is now Doctor Chapel?" 

"Just my pride...I'm the one who should apologize for not looking where I was going." 

"Yes," he conceded, "It would be prudent to be a bit more aware of your surroundings in the future," he said as he gathered up the pads he'd been carrying when they collided. 

She responded with a nod, studying the young Commander Spock carefully. According to the Ambassador, they had been friends in the other universe, apparently good friends, but in this universe they were only superficially acquainted. She felt sorrow at the knowledge that they would, in all likeliness never see one another again in this universe. There had been something inexplicable about the Ambassador that had touched her deeply, and she felt certain that she would have valued a friendship with the man standing before her. 

"I should take this opportunity to offer my congratulations to you and Dr Korby on your upcoming marriage." 

"Thank you," she responded, surprised that he knew about her marriage to Roger. 

"Good luck with the mission to New Vulcan." 

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I do not understand what primitive superstition has to do with the success of a mission, Doctor?" 

She was about to laugh when she saw the serious expression on his face, and recalled that the since Vulcan language didn't utilize colloquialisms all statements were taken at face value. 

"What I meant was I wish…" wishing, no that wouldn't work, "I mean I hope…" no the eyebrow was going to be hitting his hairline in a second, "try not to hit any planets on the way there," she smiled sweetly and turned for the elevator. 

She heard the Vulcan's footsteps behind her a second before she saw his reflection in the polished titanium doors of the turbolift. She saw his lips part as if he were about to speak, then return to the emotionless mask that she'd come to know in their previous dealings. 

The door opened and he followed her inside the empty car. 

"I find your admonishment to avoid hitting any planets highly illogical, Doctor. I am not the helmsman, and in any case the Enterprise helm is fully equipped with tactical software which would override any such potential collision." 

"Good to know" she sighed. "Did you actually follow me to tell me that?" 

"No," he responded flatly, "three of the pads were damaged and I will need to obtain replacements".

"So that's my fault?" 

"I believe we have established the fact that your lack of attention to where you were going was the major contributing factor to our collision." 

"Medical officer's offices, McCoy, Leonard she spoke into the control panel." 

"Procurement office level 41"

"I'm sorry." 

He nodded gently. "It was an accident." 

"Can I ask you a question?" 

He responded with another hoist of the eyebrow. 

"A language question." 

"Certainly." 

"What does the Vulcan word "th'y'la" mean. 

Spock's arm was a pale blue blur as it moved across her. Instinctively she pressed herself back against the wall of the turbolift to protect herself as, with Vulcan strength and speed, his arm crashed against the control panel causing the lift to come to an abrupt stop. 

"What Lieutenant Uhura told you?" he demanded anxiously as he grabbed her wrist. 

" What does Ny have to do with…" She looked down to see his hand on her bare forarm as the incipient tingling in her hand signaled the wave of thought and emotion that would follow. "You? Ohmigod… you're…"

Christine's face flushed a deep crimson. 

"You're the horny Vulcan… I mean…you and Ny… you're… you're her mystery man." 

Spock leaned back against the wall of the turbolift his face drawn and pale. "She agreed not to tell anyone." 

"She didn't tell me. You told me just now when you touched my hand." 

"Why were you asking about _"th'y'la"_?

"There was a man, a Vulcan man who said the word to me." 

"He spoke that word to you? You are certain that was the word he used?" 

"Well, he didn't actually speak the word aloud--he sort of said it in my mind." 

"Telepathically? He touched you?" 

She hesitated, debating whether she should tell him about what had happened between the Ambassador and herself. 

"It was unintentional, there was a flood of images and I heard him saying that word to a woman who looked like me. What does it mean?" 

"It is a word which Vulcans seldom use. It is reserved for one who is closest to the heart, one who is part of your soul. It can be a shield brother, or a lover… who was this Vulcan who spoke this word to you?" 

"Actually, it was you." 

"Me?" 

"Not you…"she stammered. "It was the other you, from the other timeline." 

"Ambassador Spock?" 

"Yes." 

"Fascinating. He had a number of questions about you. He wanted to know how well I knew you. If we were friends… he seemed rather unsettled when told him of my relationship with Nyota. I wondered at the time if perhaps he and your counterpart in the other timeline had been involved in some way." 

Was it possible Christine wondered? Had she and this man before her, Nyota's man no less, been lovers in the other universe? What about Roger? Had she been unfaithful to Roger? Surely that was not possible. The small lift car seemed to be closing in on her and she closed her eyes trying to center herself. Again she saw the dark haired woman with the blue eyes laughing and the deep silky voice spoke the word _"th'y'la"_ sending ripples of fire through her body. 

She opened her eyes and found herself staring into his dark brown eyes. She grabbed the front of the soft form fitting velour tunic and pulled him to her. 

"Kiss me." 

"Doctor Chapel, I fail to see how such an action would be beneficial to this situation." 

"I have to know." 

"I do not understand, Doctor. What is it that you have to know?" 

"If we were supposed to be together." 

Their faces were just inches apart, and though her request was highly illogical, it seemed there was a part of him which desired to know as well. Her grip on his unform tightened and he suddenly found his mouth pressed hard upon hers, his tongue gently gliding over her soft lips easing them apart. The kiss deepened and he wrapped his arms around her holding her tightly against him. 

Christine broke the kiss, and pulled away from staring deeply into his eyes. 

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head sadly. 

"Nothing?" he responded, his tone surprisingly peevish for a Vulcan. "Perhaps we should try again?" 

"Nyota…"

"Must never know of this." 

"Agreed." 

He smoothed his uniform tunic a bit nervously, before releasing the emergency brake on the turbolift. 

"You were going to the seventeenth floor?" he asked as his agile fingers reset the control panel. 

She began to nod yes, and then abruptly shook her head. "Main Lobby please," she said after pressing the destination panel. 

"But were you not just in the lobby?" 

"I know, but my visit with Doctor McCoy will have to wait." Christine responded, "I believe that I have a pressing engagement at the Vulcan Embassy. I believe that it's time for Ambassador Spock and myself to have a little talk." He laid a gentle hand upon her arm. "Perhaps you should reconsider that course Christine. What is to be gained by knowing of a future that will not come to pass?" 

"I don't know…" she responded.”I just need to understand things?" 

"What things?" 

"I don't know what things," she responded with a gentle laugh. "I know it sounds crazy… but I have to see him." 

"I would not say crazy," he responded with the barest hint of a smile. 

She smiled as the door opened and she exited the turbolift. 

Spock allowed himself one last look at Christine Chapel as she disappeared into the sea of beings in the brightly lit lobby. It was quite possible he had loved her in some other universe he mused, but apparently not this universe. 


	9. Chapter 9

As with most impulsively fabricated plans, the closer one got to the actual implementation, the less wisdom one could find in said plan. Christine Chapel had been sitting on the bench in front of the Vulcan Embassy for almost an hour and a half attempting to work up the courage to walk through the wrought iron gates and find Ambassador Spock.

"Highly illogical." That was an understatement. She had come here to confront him…and what? And for that matter "why"? That was certainly the million credit question. What had they been to each other in his timeline? 

_"Th'y'la."_ His voice slid through her mind like silk again sending waves of sweet fire though her body. Unconsciously she ran her fingers through her hair, the strands stiff and gummy from the styling gel. 

She saw him as he walked out through the gates, the royal purple robes flowing gracefully in the soft breeze coming up from the bay. 

"You conveniently neglected to mention that we were lovers in the other universe, Ambassador." 

"We were not lovers," he shook his head and sighed. "Christine Chapel was my wife." 

"Your wife?" she dropped back on the bench stunned by the revelation. "But …I don't understand. You told me Roger and I were married in the other universe. Why did you lie to me about that?" 

"I did not lie to you. I said that you and Roger were engaged when I met you. That was the truth." 

But I didn't marry him?" 

"No, you did not." 

"Why, why didn't I marry him?" 

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I have already told you too much, Christine." 

"Why didn't I marry him?" 

"He died while doing research on a planet in another galaxy." 

"Did I love him?" 

"Yes," he answered tenderly. "Very deeply." 

"And us?" 

"Our relationship came much later." 

"Because you were with Nyota?" 

"No. There was never anything but friendship between Nyota and myself." 

"Did you love me?" 

"It was wrong of me to come to you." he said softly. "I thought only of my pleasure in seeing you, of knowing that you were happy in your life. I failed to consider that my actions might create consequences to you." 

"Did you love me?" 

He shook his head softly, and his eyes filled with pain. "No, I did not love you. I loved her, my Christine I loved her." 

"I am her." 

"No, Christine you are not her." 

"Then who the hell am I?" she screamed. She rose from the bench trembling, her eyes flooded with tears. 

Instinctively he wrapped a comforting arm around her. "I am sorry, Christine. I never meant for this to happen." 

She pressed her face against his chest, the tightly woven fabric of his robe carried the subtle and strangely familiar fragrance of incense. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered softly and took a long slow breath to calm herself. 

She raised her head and forced herself to meet his gaze. His soft eyes were filled with concern. As if in a dream he moved his fingers to her cheek gently brushing away her tears. 

"Your face is wet." She moved her hand over his pressing it against her damp cheek. With uncharacteristic boldness she lifted her face and pressed her lips against his. Even as his mind screamed no, he pulled her against him and as her soft lips parted he deepened the kiss. A white hot ribbon of energy flowed between them, as if a circuit had been completed, as if every cell in her body found its counterpart within him and became one. She felt his hands, the skin smooth and much hotter than her own, they were everywhere at once sliding over her bare skin. And his tongue, soft wet moving gently skillfully down her throat, over her hardened nipples, and lower the things it was doing to her beyond rational thought. 

He was inside of her moving in a primal rhythm pulling her along in a vortex of ecstasy the flood of images, sensation and emotion tearing at her sanity. 

_"Th'y'la."_ The word flowed over her like silk, wrapping her in its warmth and safety. 

"No!" It seemed like hours later when Spock broke the kiss and pulled his mind from hers. 

"I cannot allow this," he said, his face a mask of pain. "I have dishonored us both." 

Slowly, he released her, making sure she was able to stand on her own. 

"How…how long?" 

"Only a few moments." 

"We didn't…"

"No," he assured her gently, "you experienced a remnant of the bond Christine and I shared." 

"It was so real." 

"Yes, there can be strong emotional transference with a mindmeld. Neither of us was prepared." 

"We were on Vulcan in the desert, but at the same time we were walking on a beach in the moonlight. I was nursing a baby, no babies and whales, we were watching whales with children…" her eyes widened in disbelief, "our children, we have children. I saw them, I held them." 

"You should sit," he said indicating the bench behind them as he gently guided her settling her on the bench before sitting beside her. 

"We were so happy," she said, her voice thin and raspy. 

"Indeed, our marriage was a true communion of heart and mind." 

"And apparently bodies." 

"Yes," he sighed, "we were very much in love, it was most unexpected." 

"Our children…they are grown now." 

"With children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of their own." "What does this all mean for us?" "For us?" he responded with a puzzled frown. "There is no 'us’, Christine. Tomorrow I will leave for New Vulcan, you will marry Roger Korby. Our paths will not cross again." 

"But there is so much I want to know." 

"No, Christine. There is nothing to be gaining by stirring up the ghost of a future that can never come to pass. We must each put aside what has passed between us her and move forward to the lives we are meant to live in this universe." 

"But…" "No, child," he admonished gently. "Whatever we were to one another before, that universe is gone. It was wrong of me to come to you, I see that now. Will you forgive me?" 

"There is no offense where none is taken, Ambassador." "It has been most pleasing to see you again, Christine." He rose from the bench and walked back toward the wrought iron gates of the Embassy. When he reached the gate he turned back to face her. 

"Live Long and Prosper, Christine Chapel"

"Peace and Long Life, Ambassador Spock." 

He moved quickly across the courtyard, the silken purple robes flowing gently in the afternoon breeze. 


	10. Chapter 10

"Miss?" the transport driver called back her. "Did you miss your stop?"

"What" she responded absently? 

"This is the third time we've come to the end of the line. Where exactly are you going, miss?" 

"I…" Christine looked around the empty transbus not quite certain how she'd gotten there. "I'm not sure." 

"I'm shutting down for the night. There's a public transporter inside the terminal, or I could flag down an aircab for you." 

"Thanks, that won't be necessary." Gathering herself together she disembarked into the busy terminal. Even at this hour of the night the transport hub was teaming with activity, and she found moving through the noisy crowd strangely soothing. 

As a physician she recognized her symptoms; she was in shock. Her mind was still reeling from the momentary linking with the Ambassador. The images and emotions were tumbling through her mind some barely discernable others crystal clear. It was another woman's lifetime, but somehow her lifetime as well. 

_"Kaiidith!"_ Several patrons stopped and regarded her and she realized she must have spoken aloud. Surak was correct. There was no logic in denying the reality of a situation. Acceptance and moving forward was the only logical choice. Ambassador Spock's path was with his people on New Vulcan; her path was here with Roger. 

That was it. She needed Roger, needed him to hold her, to tell her he loved her. She had loved him deeply once in another universe, she could love him deeply again. Christine was flooded with a feeling peace and lightness of heart she'd not felt in many years. It was just past nineteen hundred hours. Roger would still be at the Institute working. Scanning the overhead monitors she found the directions to the public transport station. 

The line moved quickly and within ten minutes she ascended the transporter platform. She closed her eyes as the shimmering beam caught her and within moments delivered her to the station across the street from the Korby Institute. 

Christine felt momentarily overwhelmed, as she always did when entering the richly appointed lobby of the Institute. It was an imposing building, much like Roger himself, Christine mused. The receptionist smiled as Christine approached the desk. 

"Is Doctor Korby still here?" 

"He's in his office working. He did ask not to be disturbed… but I'm sure that didn't include you, Doctor Chapel. Shall I ring him?" 

"No," Christine smiled, "I want to surprise him." 

The outer office was dark except for the glow of the computer monitor on the desk of Roger's secretary Jan. 

"Stop pouting it's not attractive." 

Christine jumped hearing Roger's voice from the office behind her. 

"How can you be such a heartless bastard?" 

She recognized the other voice immediately as that of Andrea Mason, Roger's research assistant. 

"Andréa, you've known from the beginning I was going to marry Christine. These histrionics are absurd. Nothing between us will change." 

The office door was half closed, but Christine could see Roger clad only in a pair of silky lounging pants as he handed his Andrea, who was wearing nothing at all, a class of wine. 

"Do you actually expect me to be happy about this? I'm supposed to walk down the aisle as the maid-of-honor with a smile on my face and watch you marry her?" 

"I expect you to stop being childish and do as I say. Do you realize that once she says 'I do' we'll have 100 trillion credits. Certainly I can expect you to be happy about that. Do you have the slightest idea of how deeply I've gone into debt keeping the Institute afloat, not to mention all of the lavish trips and expensive jewelry you're so fond of _Cherie_?" "But I love you, Roger." 

"Be that as it may, but on Monday three billion credits in loans come due, and if I don't marry Christine Chapel tomorrow as planned not only will we lose everything we've worked for but we will most likely be spending the next few years in prison as well." 

"Prison?" 

"I'm not sure our benefactors will appreciate the manner in which we've diverted their contributions. You signed off on the transfers my dear making you liable as well. I believe 'fraud' might be the technical term. Now come over here and be a good girl." 

Andrea set the wineglass down on the desk as Roger released the closure on his pants letting them slide to the floor. Taking the girl firmly by the shoulders he guided her to her knees and positioned himself accordingly. Christine watched in morbid fascination as Andrea grasped Roger's erect penis and moved it toward her ruby red painted lips. 

She retreated silently into the lift, emerging in the lobby a few moments later. 

"Was he surprised?" The perky receptionist enquired. 

"He…he was working on a project. I didn't want to disturb him." She walked toward the exit, and then turned back to the young woman. "Please, don't tell him I came by." 

"No problem. See you tomorrow, Doctor." 

"Yes… tomorrow." 

She managed to get out the door and halfway down the block before vomiting on the sidewalk.


	11. Chapter 11

Christine quickly stripped off her clothes and popped them into the laundry slot before retrieving the bag from the all night pharmacy. Programming a water shower she scanned the directions on the small dark brown cube before hitting the start button. She rubbed the translucent gel between her palms then carefully massaged it through her damp hair allowing the recommended sixty seconds before rinsing it out.

She wrapped her wet hair in a towel and went to the kitchen to make a pot of strong black coffee. It was going to be a long day and she had a lot to get done. She took the coffee back into the living room and sat down at the computer. A quick check told her that her order had been processed and was awaiting finalization. She picked up one of the unused moving containers and returned to the bathroom, momentarily startled seeing her dark brown hair reflected in the mirror over the sink. It would take a bit of getting used to, she decided, but for the first time in a long time she felt like her old self. With one deft move she swept the myriad containers of makeup into the box then sealed it and put it with the trash. It was surprisingly satisfying.

After donning her last clean uniform, she made one final pass through the apartment making sure all was in order. Satisfied she'd left nothing behind she dialed up the aircar service then detached the mobile computer from the base unit chucked it into her pack, grabbed her bridal gown and descended the stairs to the waiting aircab. The aircab docked at the bank a few moments before opening. The driver, a young Denebian man helped her with her pack then started to remove the stasis bag with the wedding dress. 

"No. That's a separate delivery. I need for you to deliver that to Nob Hill Wedding Chapel at exactly five this evening." She signed the credit slip and added ten thousand credits. The young man's eyes widened at the tip which was more than a week's pay. 

"Is there a message that goes with the delivery?" 

Christine studied the gown for a moment. "No, I have a feeling the empty dress will pretty much say it all." 

…………................………………………………………………………….. "May I help you?" The distinguished gentleman stood and greeted Christine. His name plate identified him as Mark McPherron Vice President of Trusts. 

"I'm Doctor Christine Chapel Mr. McPherron," she said handing him her ID chip. "I've come to close out my account." 

"Happy Birthday, Doctor Chapel," McPherron smiled as her information came up on the view screen, then she saw is face stiffen, no doubt upon seeing the size of the account. 

"I hope you aren't dissatisfied with our service, Doctor?" "Not at all Mr. McPherron, I'm starting up… well you might say a new business venture off planet. I've got the transfer all set up." She handed him her mobile which he connected to his terminal and completed the transfer. 

"If we can ever be of assistance to you, Doctor, please don't hesitate to contact me?" "Well, someone once told me 'there are always possibilities' at least I think they told me that. It might have just been someone who looked like me." 

Christine didn't stop to acknowledge the baffled look on Mark McPherron's face. ………………………………………………………………………………………………… "Can you put that in a stasis container?" Christine asked the Andorian man behind the counter. "Extra charge." He responded crossly. 

"No problem." She entered the last six numbers of the passcode and waited for final confirmation. Everything was in place, and with two hours to spare. 

She paid the grim faced man, put the container into her pack and moved down the crowded Spacedock departure concourse. According to the departure viewscreen, the Enterprise was loading from gate 9 on the other end of the concourse. 

This was going to be the dicey part. Everything hinged on getting past the security checkpoint. With the lieutenant's stripe and Enterprise insignia on her uniform, coupled with a brief flash of her Fleet ID the overwhelmed Passcontrol officers would most likely wave her through onto the crew transport ship. The ID could be problematic. In her symbolic bid to "wash that man right out" of her hair she was no longer a visual match for the bleached blonde hologram that would display if the ID was closely examined. 

But luck was on her side and the harried workers, overburdened by the last minute influx of cargo containers, simply waved her through the line. A relieved sigh passed her lips as she stowed her pack in the overhead compartment and settled into her seat. 

Half an hour later Christine tossed her pack onto the bed in the VIP guest quarters and stretched out beside it. One final hurdle and she would be home free. 


	12. Chapter 12

Ambassador Spock palmed open his door and fixed the interloper seated at his desk with a steely gaze.

"I am sure you can imagine my surprise when Yeoman Rand told me that my," he cleared his throat for emphasis, "'wife'… was safely aboard and settled into" he cleared his throat again, "'our' quarters." 

"I don't believe I actually told her I was your wife. I did tell her that you were married to Doctor Christine Chapel. She may have seen my ID and inferred that I was that Christine Chapel. It does seem like an obvious source of confusion." 

"This is not amusing, Christine. You should not have come here. In fact, are you not are to be married today?" 

"Yeah, that didn't exactly work out." 

He raised a questioning eyebrow, a mannerism that she was beginning to find both endearing and irritating. 

"He was…what is the term" she tapped her finger on her lips thoughtfully, "oh yeah he was fucking his damn lab assistant Andrea for the past seven years." 

"Ah yes, Andrea," he responded shaking his head slightly. 

"You knew about her?" 

"It is possible he was involved with her in the other universe as well." The Vulcan conceded apologetically. 

"Well thanks so much for the heads up. Somehow I imagined that knowing someone from the future would be more useful in everyday life." Leaning back in the chair she crossed her arms across her chest and scowled at him. 

"I am sorry, Christine. I was unaware of her presence in this timeline. Many things have changed." 

"Well apparently Roger was a bucket of slime in both universes." 

"So it would seem. But that does not explain your presence here, Christine." 

"Well I thought that would be pretty obvious. I'm going to New Vulcan." 

"No, Christine, you are not. I am sorry that your marriage to Doctor Korby did not work out, but I cannot allow you to come to New Vulcan." 

"You can't make me go back." 

"I can call the Captain and have a Security team escort you back to Spackdock, I am not certain of the penalties for being a stowaway on a Federation Starship but I would imagine that it is frowned upon." 

"So you're just going to sail off into the stars and leave me here with this crappy excuse for a life?" 

"Christine…"

"No!" she declared defiantly rising from her seat at the desk. "This, all of this, is your fault." 

"My fault?" 

"You are the one that caused the whole timeline to change with your psychotic Romulans, and red matter, and heaven only knows what else, that screwed up the happy life I was supposed to have. So, the way I see it, you should be the one to fix it." 

"Fix it?" 

"You're going to give me back my happy life. I want a home, and I want my four children and you are going to give them to me." 

"What you ask is impossible. You are a child yourself. I am almost past middle age, even by Vulcan standards. What you suggest is most improper." 

"Our age difference is of no concern. With your Vulcan genes, you will live at least sixty or seventy more years, and my lifespan will be about the same. Throw in the heat of three suns and you very well may outlive me yet gain." 

"I am sorry, Christine." He said as he picked up her pack from the bed. 

"Go ahead, have the Captain put me off the ship. I'll just be on the next ship"

"It would seem you are an extremely stubborn woman in both universes, Christine." He shook the pack tentatively and frowned. "What have you packed for your ill-advised adventure?" 

He opened the flap and removed a metal flask. 

"It's water, New Vulcan is a desert planet so I figured I'd need some water." 

"Highly logical." He replied with a trace of amusement. 

He removed the purple ball cap, which he recognized as one of his Christine's most cherished childhood treasures and laid it on the bed next to the flask without comment. He removed the small stasis container, turning it over and examining it like it was an alien lifeform. 

"And this?" 

"It's the Baconator." 

"A weapon of some sort?" 

"Not exactly, though if you eat enough of them you'll probably have a heart attack." Seeing his puzzlement she added, "It's a triple cheeseburger with bacon." 

"I apologize that my knowledge of Spacedock food mall cuisine is so limited." 

"No offense where none is taken. I figure if I'm going to be a vegetarian for the next seventy years I'm entitled to one last bacon cheeseburger." 

"And this…" he stopped realizing the clear stasis bag held the Venetian lace wedding dress that had belonged to her mother. The dress his Christine had worn when they were married. He touched the bag holding the delicate garment possessively for a moment, then laid it alongside the other items on the bed. 

"And this?" Before Christine could snatch the gift bag from him he'd removed the skimpy lace teddy from the bag and was regarding it with puzzled fascination. 

"It was a gift from Nyota. I brought it in case you needed help getting… your, you know…interest up?" 

"That was most thoughtful of you, Christine, but I can assure you my 'interest' is not in need of any assistance." 

"Good to know." 

He looked back into the bag and found the package with the Florentine bowl, a handful of music cubes and holivids and three large padds. "I see you included some entertainment for the journey, music, pictures and I'm assuming some romance novels." 

" _They are koon-ut-vilitau._ "

"You bring a dowry?" 

"In keeping with Vulcan law." 

"These books are your marriage settlement?" 

"They aren't books, they're bills of lading." 

"Bills of lading?" 

"For the cargo I'm bringing with me. The cargo is the _koon-ut-vilitau."_ "I am afraid to ask, what cargo you could possibly be bringing. More baconators perhaps?" 

"Equipment for a fully functional maternity hospital, fertility and genetics lab, newborn intensive care equipment, obstetrical transporters, a dozen surgical units, artificial blood generators, stasis field equipment, general medical supplies, oh and the irrigation equipment and power generators and all of the rest of the supplies that were cut by the Federation." 

"But how…"

"As it turns out I had over a hundred billion credits in my account." 

"The trust fund from your grandfather." 

"Again thanks for the heads up. Is there anything else I should know? Look, I know I'll never be your Christine, but I believe if we're together I'll become more like her, and that you'll love me for myself the way you loved her." 

He did not respond, but instead turned on the comm unit. 

"Can you connect me with Captain Kirk please? Yes Captain, I'm afraid I have a situation here that requires your assistance." 

Christine moved back to the bed and began angrily repacking her things, her hands were trembling as she held the lacy wedding dress and she struggled to hold back the tears. 

"The Captain will be here in ten minutes. You can change in the fresher." 

"Change?" 

He nodded to the clear stasis bag with the lace gown. "It would be logical to wear the dress when the Captain marries us. I am assuming that is why you brought it with you." 

"The Captain is going to marry us?" 

"Yes Christine, the Captain is going to marry us." 

"Now?" 

"In eight point nine seven minutes to be precise. I have asked him to bring Nyota and Doctor McCoy to act as witnesses. I thought you might find that pleasing." 

"I find that most pleasing, thank you." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and scurried toward the fresher to change. 

"I should tell you," she turned back and regarded him shyly, "that I am not…"

"Sane?" he cut in, with a trace of amusement in his eyes. "Duly noted." 

"I am not experienced… with, you know…"

"Antimatter containment fields?" 

"Never mind," she said in exasperation palming open the fresher door. 

"It will not be a problem _Th'y'la_." he whispered softly. 

Moving back to the bed he fished the gift bag out of the rucksack tossing it onto the bed. While he was quite certain that he would not need any help whatsoever at "keeping his interest up", it was a lovely garment it would be most pleasurable to see her wearing it, though not quite as pleasurable as it would be removing it from her body. Taking the travel sack by the strap he walked to the closet where he unceremoniously dumped it on the floor. 

………........……………………………………………………………….. James Kirk punched the bridge code into the panel of the turbolift. It had been the first wedding he'd been required to perform as Captain, and though it had been of necessity brief, he felt he had acquitted himself well. Who would have imagined the Vulcan as old as Methuselah would have bagged himself a babe like Christine Chapel? 

He regarded his First Officer, manning the Science station busily running scans. It was no secret that he and Uhura were making the beast with two backs on a regular basis. What was it with this guy that he managed to get the two hottest women on the planet at the same time? The whole alternate universe thing was more than he could get his head around. Uhura had just served as witness for her boyfriend while he married another woman that he'd apparently been married to in the other universe. She had cried and hugged Christine, wished the Ambassador happiness and would no doubt be waiting in the younger Spock's bed tonight wearing nothing but a smile. The mere thought of it gave him a headache. 

"Captain, is there a problem?" Spock asked. 

"A bit of a headache…why don't you keep an eye on things up here and I'll head down to sickbay." 

Spock nodded and moved to the Captain's chair as Kirk headed back for the turbolift. 

He entered the code for sickbay then hailed McCoy on his communicator. 

"McCoy here." 

"Got any more of that Romulan Ale Bones?" 

"I certainly do." 

"I'm on my way, Kirk out." …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Spock lay quietly in bed, his new bride nestled close beside him, the soft flickering light from the firepot softly illuminating her exquisite form. It was true that he loved that in her which was his Christine, but already he felt the stirring of a new love that was for this Christine alone. 

He felt quite a different stirring as she awakened and began to move her hand most provocatively down his chest and slowly down his hip along his thigh and then back up via a more arousing route. 

He reached down and captured the adventurous hand. 

"You know I did not marry you for the _koon-ut-vilitau_?"

"I know." She whispered in his ear as she squirmed free of the restraining hand and returned to her exploration of his body. 

"Again?" 

"So it would seem." 

You are insatiable, my wife." "I burn for thee ,husband." 

"As I burn for thee, wife." 

"Then would it not be logical to start a fire?" 

"Eminently logical." 

Her hand moved downward again, languidly caressing his stomach then moving lower, as her soft lips followed the trail her fingers brazenly blazed. A stream of pre-reform Vulcan oaths poured from his lips as her exploring tongue and warm wet mouth reached their intended destination. 

After a few minutes he disengaged her gently then eased her onto her back and moving down engaged in some sweet exploration of his own as he readied her to take him. She was ready, more than ready when he purposefully he set his fingers along her psi points moving into her mind even as he was moving himself within her body. A tidal wave of raw pleasure caught them up pulling them under then releasing them spent and sated. 

Spock pulled her body against himself, unashamed of the elemental emotion coursing through their bond, as they drifted off to sleep. 

"What was Nyota right about, Christine?" "Nothing important." "Christine." 

"Yes love." 

"What is a Horny Vulcan?"


	13. Chapter 13

Spock was drawn from his meditation by the soft sound of the wind chimes fluttering in the unexpected afternoon breeze. It was a hot day, even by New Vulcan standards and the triple suns beat down without mercy on the garnet red sand of their new home. It had been exactly eight terran months since their arrival here on New Vulcan.

It had been an uncertain start in this new world. There were some among the colonists, a small but vocal minority, who made no effort to hide their displeasure at the marriage of a direct descendant of Surak to a human wife. _Qomi_ , no one had the courage to say the word to his face but he was well aware that there had been whispers. Despite Surek's teachings and stated commitment to the principles of IDIC, there were still those less evolved among his people who stopped short of the truly infinite diversity of mixing Vulcan DNA with that of outworlders. He had experienced that same intolerance as the child of a human mother growing up on Vulcan, and faced it yet again when he'd flown in the face of tradition and married Christine Chapel. But in both cases his family's power and connections had forced the bigots to hold their thoughts to themselves. As T'Pau's grandson Sarek was not a man whose family could be slighted with impunity in either universe. 

But on this new Vulcan homeworld Christine's presence had raised a maelstrom of philosophical and moral debate. Was the purpose of a new homeworld to preserve Vulcan teaching, culture and heritage, or to preserve the pure bloodlines of the Vulcan race? It would not be a question answered easily or soon. But Vulcans were, in the end, both pragmatic and logical to a fault, and the supplies she brought, coupled with her expertise with Vulcan genetics had made his new wife welcome by the vast majority of the colonists of New ShiKahr. 

He had just finished reading the new message from James Kirk when he saw Sarek approaching the house. He shut down the computer then donned a light gauzy robe suitable to the heat of midafternoon. After programming the environmental controls for the cooler temperature of the evening he joined Sarek on his late afternoon walk into town as was becoming their custom. It was a strange, yet surprisingly comfortable relationship that was developing between the two men. The roles of father and son had reversed with the elder Spock often providing counsel and guidance for Sarek as they tried to forge a new Vulcan social order. He was coming to know his father in a way that had eluded them in the other timeline. 

The pair headed toward the steel and glass prefab structure that housed The Amanda Grayson Obstetrics Clinic. The recently completed facility was one of the many changes that New ShiKhar has seen in eight months. There was now a healing center, several learning centers, a library, a government center and the almost completed Vulcan Heritage Center. 

As they entered the clinic, the young Vulcan receptionist, herself heavy with child, rose and led them to the ubiquitous terra cotta tray which held a pitcher of cool water and cups, the traditional Vulcan symbol of hospitality and welcome. Spock poured a cup for each of them and they drank it in silence, a sign of respect for the precious life sustaining liquid. 

Through the window he could see Christine seated on the floor with her back to them, deep in conversation with a young couple who had come for fertility counseling. While some posited that the repopulation effort should be handled in a more logical and impersonal manner, using artificial insemination of willing females, Christine was committed to helping couples develop relationships of trust and commitment and building more traditional family units. Her approach was seeing excellent results, with more than two dozen confirmed pregnancies in the six months since she'd opened the facility. 

"The tests show everything in order Stonn, strictly from a genetic standpoint you two are an excellent match. Your profiles from Healer T'Roth indicate that you are both intellectually and mentally ready so no problems on that front." her voice drifted out into the hallway where Spock and Sarek waited. 

Stonn? Spock felt his body tense. Could it possibly be him? 

"And T'Pring, you are responding very well to the hormone treatments. I see that you are planning to bond with one another in a month. I would like to see you again, perhaps a few days before the bonding if that is convenient for both of you." 

The tightening of Spock's jaw didn't go unnoticed by Sarek. 

"You knew Stonn and T'Pring in your universe?" 

"Yes," he responded curtly. 

"T'Pring was to have been bonded to Spock." 

"They were not bonded?" "No they were not." 

This was the one thing that still puzzled Spock, how the Spock of this universe had been free of T'Pring and been able to pursue a relationship with Nyota Uhura. 

"Why were they not bonded?" 

"Star Trek." Sarek sighed. 

"Star Trek?" 

"Star Trek was the book Wynonna Kirk wrote about her life with her husband and his death on the Kelvin. Amanda read it the week before Spock's bonding with T'Pring and was so moved by the woman's devotion to her husband that she refused to allow the bonding." 

"Mother refused the bonding?" 

"Amanda had been opposed to the bonding with T'Pring from the beginning. T'Pau desired it and it was an advantageous match for T'Pring's family, but they made no secret of their feelings about Spock's human genetics. There was hardness in T'Pring, even at that young age. She accepted the bonding for the social status and lands that would be hers in joining herself with our clan. 

"Amanda wished for Spock to have a mate of his own choosing, one who would choose him freely for himself. She was intractable and no amount of logic would persuade her to reconsider. It caused something of a scandal at the time. T'Pau was furious, and I had to give T'Pring's father a quarter of our lands at Keldeen to break the bonding contract. 

"Were you bonded to T'Pring in your universe?" 

"Yes." "But you did not marry her?" 

"No, she chose to challenge the bonding by invoking the _koon-ut-kallifee_ in order to marry Stonn. It also caused something of a scandal, and T'Pau was also most furious." 

T'Pring and Stonn walked out into the corridor nodding a quiet greeting to Spock and Sarek as they passed. 

"A little help in here would be appreciated." Christine called to the two men. 

Spock suppressed an amused smile as his very pregnant wife struggled to get up from the plush floor pillows. 

"I'm not sure I'll make it five more weeks." She groaned as Sarek and her husband helped her to her office. 

"Spock, Christine, I have duties at the Council office, so I will take my leave." 

"Will you join us for endmeal tomorrow father?" 

"Of course my daughter, that would be most pleasing." He bowed slightly, a gesture that Spock and Christine both reciprocated then he took his leave. 

"That last couple was quite promising." Christine remarked as she got settled at the desk. They've decided to complete their formal bonding next month and we'll start her on a combination of drugs to generate ovulation." Christine looked up from the terminal and saw the strange look on her husband's face. 

"You knew them…before?" 

"It is of no consequence. Shall we head for home my, wife." 

"I just need to get everything shut down." 

The evening was growing quickly cooler as the pair headed back along the path to their small home. Two of the three suns had set and the lone moon was rising from the east bathing the red desert in a magical glow. Certain they were completely unobserved Spock wrapped a protective arm around his young wife. 

"I had a comm from Kirk today." 

"Was there any news?" 

"Everyone is well. They will be here to drop off Doctor McCoy before your delivery…and Nyota will be coming with him to be with you as well." 

"That is most pleasing news my, husband," she responded, her formal Vulcan phrasing at odds with the all too human pleasure in her voice. 

"There is news of…"he stopped walking and pulled her close to him.”There is news of Doctor Korby." 

"Oh." 

"The Federation Tribunal found him guilty on all charges. He is to serve twenty years in the Federation Prison on Centauri Prime." 

"And Andrea?" 

"She testified against him and was given probation." 

"Andrea testified against him?" 

"It appears that there were other…" he cleared his throat, "there were other women. When Andrea found out she turned against him." 

They walked again for several minutes in silence. 

"You are troubled by the news?" 

"No. I just thought I'd feel happy knowing he was going to jail, I don't know, vindicated in some way. But I don't feel anything…it's like hearing news about a stranger. He was such a brilliant man, Spock. It's just all such a terrible waste. I know it's not logical, but I feel sorry for him." 

Spock reached out a hand to Christine and as they touched the link between them opened effortlessly. 

"He must live with the consequence of his choices _T'hy'la_.It would be illogical to feel sorrow for what he had done to himself. Let us consign Doctor Korby to the past, and move on to our future together." 

Christine embraced her husband capturing his lips in a ravenous kiss and sending her husband most explicit images of how she would like them to move in the near future. 

"Indeed?" he responded, a trace of amusement lightening his dark eyes. "Let us go home my wife."


End file.
